


Missing them

by Saetha



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Beard shaving, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Battle of Azanulbizar, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shaving, this is sad and soft and yet not unhappy at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 17:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10167683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: Thorin and Dwalin try to cope with the aftermath of Azanulbizar. Dwalin has a rather special request.





	

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY IVANA MY DEARIE <3\. Best friend in the world and all around awesome person! I wish you all the best in the world and that your awesomeness never ends. 
> 
> This is based on a request I actually got on anon a while back on Tumblr, so I'm hoping I'll be fulfilling two wishes today!

Thorin’s hand was shaking ever so slightly as he brought it up to his beard. The little scissors in his fingers reflected the light of the candle on the small stand in front of him. It was a difficult thing for every dwarf to bring something like scissors or a razor to their hair; after all, their beards and hair were their biggest pride. It didn’t matter that Thorin had been trimming his beard for several decades now; every single time was like opening up the wound again.

However that was, after all, the purpose– to keep the memory fresh in his mind, to never forget the grief and pain that his folk had suffered the day the dragon came to Erebor. He would never allow himself to forget anything that happened and his trimmed beard would remind him of the burden that lay on his shoulders now, to guide his people back to Erebor one day and win back their home.

The scissors cut through the first straggly pieces of his beard. Snip, snap, the hair fell – the sound of it being strangely similar to that of an arrow being loosened into the air.

Snip, snap.

Just like the arrow that had killed his brother. Just like the sound of the sword cutting through the air that had killed Thrór. Just like the sound of the dagger thrown that had killed Fundin.

If he closed his eyes he could see them still, even though he hadn’t been there when Frerin and Thrór had fallen. There was no need for him to have been  – he could perfectly imagine their deaths in his mind.

A sharp pain shot through his cheek and Thorin opened his eyes to see that he had accidentally nicked the skin with the scissors. For a moment he simply stared at his reflection, lifting up his thumb to wipe at the blood. Another shudder ran through him at the sight of red and he could feel an echo of pain run through his side and along all the wounds he had received in the battle. Of course the blood brought back other memories too but Thorin clawed his way out of them,  sputtering and gasping for breath as he fought against the maelstrom of emotions that threatened to overwhelm his memories.

He finished the trimming of his beard almost mechanically, focused on nothing but the simplicity of the motions to avoid getting lost in his own head. Maybe feeling nothing was far better in this case than feeling everything at the same time.

There was a sound at the flap of his tent and Thorin didn’t even have to turn around to know who was asking for permission to enter. For a moment he considered sending Dwalin away, but then he remembered that he wasn’t the only one who had lost part of his life and soul in the previous battle.

“Come in.” He was absurdly proud that his voice wasn’t shaking. Turning around, he saw that Dwalin had entered slowly; his leg wound was still obviously paining him, but nobody who didn’t know him as well as Thorin did would have seen the small lines around his mouth that the pain had etched there. He had almost lost both his eye and his foot in the battle after going into a fighting frenzy when he had seen his father die and Thorin, lost in his own grief, had not been there to help rip him out of it.

“Hey.” Dwalin’s mouth curved into a miniature smile that Thorin answered after a moment as he walked over to him. His partner’s brow creased in worry when he looked at him. “You’re bleeding.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Thorin had already forgotten about where he had just cut himself trimming his beard. “It’s nothing bad. A little cut, is all.”

Dwalin reached up, his hand stopping shortly in front of Thorin’s face. When Thorin didn’t withdraw he wiped the drop of blood from his cheek with a gentle movement, his thumb resting on Thorin’s chin before he stopped again.

“You need to be more careful.” His voice was cracking slightly but he still looked him straight in the eyes. Ever since the battle had finished they had never been physically together apart from once, when they had slept wrapped around each other after the grief had been too overwhelming to walk through it alone. Thorin didn’t know where their relationship was at the moment and where it was heading; but his exhaustion was too strong for him to do much about it for now.

“I know. Sorry.” He rolled his shoulders. “How’s your leg?”

“Better,” Dwalin shrugged. “Still not great, but it’ll come with time. Or so the healer says.”

Thorin nodded, biting his lip. Talking had once come so easy between him and Dwalin; now he looked at his partner, the one he had called his One multiple times, and didn’t really know what to say. It ate at him and he shuddered. He didn’t want to ask Dwalin why he was here; a question like that carried with it the notion that he didn’t want him to be, which would be both wrong and right. He didn’t even know what he wanted anymore.

“I am here to ask you for help,” Dwalin said as if he had read his thoughts. Then he stopped, as if the reconsider his next words.

“Anything I can do.” Thorin spread his hands a little and stared at him expectantly. He had no idea what Dwalin could want from him, but it had to be something important for him to be so abashed about it. Dwalin took a deep breath and looked at him.

“I want to cut my mohawk.” The words hung in the air, ready to drop to the ground any moment and bury them with them. “All of it. It…only seems right. And you wouldn’t be the only one anymore to…to…”

Dwalin made a nervous motion with his hands towards Thorin’s beard before they fell at his side and he looked away, suddenly unable to meet Thorin's gaze anymore.

"I don't want to be presumptuous or anything but this...is important to me. Please?"

Thorin still didn't know what to say. That Dwalin would shave his head bare...it was common procedure for dwarves to cut off part of their hair for those that had fallen and that they mourned for and the locks were usually entombed with the dead, but to give up so much of what was the dwarves' greatest pride...

"Are you sure?" he asked after a moment - and immediately bit his tongue. Dwalin wouldn't be here if he weren't sure. To insinuate otherwise was almost an insult to his partner's intelligence. Dwalin merely hesitated for a moment, however, before he nodded.

"I am," he said simply.

Thorin didn't know what it was in the end - maybe the earnest conviction in Dwalin's voice, maybe the way he simply stood there, trusting Thorin, maybe the feeling that they were so similar after all. However, he found himself walking towards him and wordlessly reach out to take his partner's hand. The skin on them was still hot from Dwalin's latest tattoos.

"I am honoured," he replied thickly. Dwalin's fingers squeezed his ever so briefly before he let go and sat down, facing away from the mirror that Thorin had used to trim his own beard earlier. His fingers were flexing and Thorin could tell by how deep his breaths were that he was still anxious about what was to come.

"Do you want me to...to cut it or shave it or...?" Thorin asked him gently, suddenly as insecure as a dwarrow how was about to receive their first real sword.

"Cut first, shave later?" Dwalin suggested, shrugging slightly. "I mean...seems easier that way, no?"

"It does," Thorin agreed and reached for the chest that held the large set of shears he owned. He took them out, staring at them as if he had forgotten what they were for before he visibly ripped himself out of it.

"You really want me to be the one to do it?" he asked once more, shears hovering a finger's width above Dwalin's mohawk.

"Yes." Dwalin reached out, squeezing Thorin's leg briefly. "You're the only one I trust with this."

Thorin took a deep breath and nodded, grabbing a handful of hair f and bringing the scissors down. The blades cut through the hair with ease - strange that such a significant task should be so easy. He tossed aside what he had cut off and continued, slowly cutting away at the mohawk until all that was left was a short fuzzy section running down the length of Dwalin's scalp.

Dwalin reached up to feel Thorin's work.

"It's so short," he said, awe in his voice. "Feels strange."

That made Thorin smile a little, for the first time in a while.

"Would you like me to shave it off completely?" he asked, resting his fingers briefly on Dwalin's scalp. Dwalin looked up at him, their fingers brushing for a quick moment.

"Yes." The answer was simple and yet full of conviction. Thorin simply nodded and returned with a razor a short time later. Paradoxically, although almost never used, every dwarf had one.

"Hold still," he warned Dwalin. "I don't want to hurt you. And skin on the scalp is always thin, you know that."

"I do. I trust you." Indeed Dwalin seemed as relaxed as possible when Thorin put the thin blade to his head. Thorin stopped for a moment after Dwalin's words to hide the tremble going through his hands; he had not expected them. Even after all they had been through, everything that Thorin had done wrong, Dwalin _still_ trusted him. He wished he knew that he actually deserved that trust.

He worked with slow, careful moves, taking care not to nick Dwalin's skin at least a little. If he would hurt his friend and partner, he would likely never forgive himself for it. The hair came off bit by bit, falling to the floor in little bundles until the mohawk was gone and only the hair on the sides of Dwalin's head was left.

"There, all done." Thorin took a step back, cleaning off the razorblade and putting it back into its case. "Do you want to have a look?"

Dwalin nodded, but made no move to stand up yet.

"That was remarkably easy," he murmured as he reached up to rub his hand over his newly bald head. It had to be a strange feeling for him - Thorin still remembered what it had felt like when he had trimmed his beard for the first time right after Erebor had fallen, the strangeness of trying to touch something that simply wasn't there anymore.

"I know," Thorin agreed softly. He reached out towards Dwalin with his hand and after a moment, his partner took it, pulling himself up from the chair to stare at the little mirror. He brought his hand up again, running it back and forth over his head.

"Does it feel different?" Thorin asked and they both knew that he didn't mean just his physical appearance.

"Yes," Dwalin replied after some hesitation. "It feels...right, somehow. I think. It's strange. But it's right."

"Yeah." Thorin ran his fingers through his own trimmed beard.

"Ma and Da would both have a fit," Dwalin mumbled all of a sudden.

"Yeah. They would." _And Frerin would make terrible jokes all day long_. Thorin didn't feel strong enough to say the last bit out loud. Not yet. The silence hung between them as Dwalin kept staring into the mirror, but Thorin could see that his hands were balled into fists and that he was trembling slightly. Without really knowing what he was doing he stepped behind his friend and wrapped his arms around him, gently putting his fingers around Dwalin's and beginning to unwrap them.  

"I miss them," Dwalin whispered. "Mahal, Thorin, _I miss them_."

"I know." Thorin squeezed more tightly. "I know. Me too."

Finally Dwalin turned around to him and Thorin wasn't even surprised to find his face wet with tears. He said nothing, just held his partner as tightly as he could whilst planting a soft kiss on the newly bald head. It was no surprise to him that his own cheeks were glistening after a while as well.


End file.
